


as sweet as the sound

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Prostitute/Whore Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: When a bawd asks Geralt for help, he never expects to befriend one of the whores and he definitely never expects to develop feelings for the man.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 57
Kudos: 752





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> very excited for this - hope y'all enjoy <3
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Geralt stared blankly at the woman. She was older, probably in her 50s, with graying hair and wrinkles around her eyes. She also had a determined set to her jaw.

Like she’d really been expecting Geralt to accept her request. He would’ve laughed if the whole thing hadn’t been so ridiculous and the woman didn’t look so serious, unwavering.

“I don’t hunt _humans_ ,” he said, not for the first time.

She frowned, jutting her chin in the air, “I know, but who else am I supposed to turn to?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He had heard her story and he really _did_ feel sorry for her; no one deserved to be murdered, especially so violently, but, “I hope you find the help you need – _elsewhere_.”

He went to turn around but she grabbed his arm before he could. He raised an eyebrow, silent and waiting. “Please, four of them have been killed already. Judging from the pattern, another will be killed this Friday.”

Geralt sighed and gently removed his arm from her grip, “Ask someone else.”

“What, do you not care?” she snapped, “Because they’re whores?”

Geralt clenched his jaw. “I do not judge,” he said, perfectly even, “especially because I have visited whorehouses on more than one occasion myself. This has nothing to do with that and everything to do with the fact I – ”

“Don’t get involved in human affairs,” she finished sharply. “But you do, don’t you? I mean, you kill monsters because _humans_ ask it of you.” Geralt didn’t reply, just stared at her. She was old but had the fire in her eyes of a young, healthy woman. “I am asking you to kill a monster, too,” she continued, “Just of the human variety.”

He wanted to turn and walk away. He wanted to leave. He wanted to kill a monster, not a human masquerading as one. He wanted to _help_. Geralt scrubbed a hand down his face. Fuck, he was getting too soft. Yennefer had such as much, and she’d been right.

“You’ll pay me?” he asked with a tired sigh.

The woman nodded – she’d said her name was Calar – and pulled out a pouch of coins. “I know you might not believe this,” she said, offering it. He took it. It was heavy and bulging. “But I care about my girls and boys. I pay them well, I respect their wishes. I do not wish to see another one die.”

Geralt opened the pouch; there was enough in there to last him six months, easily.

“Please,” she said, and he looked up into her eyes. “I’ve tried asking for help, but no one cares about the local whores being killed off like cattle. If anything, they think this monster is ‘ _cleansing the town_ ’. You’re our only hope, Witcher.”

He really was getting soft. “Take me to your place,” he said, gruff. “I’ll see what I can do.”

+

Calar led him to a building on the outskirts of town. It was large, but obviously rundown. Calar smiled politely at him before opening the door. Someone was at the front of the shop, a young woman with red curls and red lips.

“Anny,” she said. “I finally found us help.”

The woman – Anny – brightened up and rushed over. She extended a hand. “Anny,” she greeted, and Geralt stared at her hand without accepting it. Smiling awkwardly, she dropped her hand and smoothed down her skirt.

“Don’t mind him,” Calar said, “Get back to work.”

Anny nodded and scurried off. Calar gestured for Geralt follow her. She led him down a long hallway and to a small room.

“Please, sit,” she said. Geralt took one of the chairs. “I don’t really know where to start,” she said honestly. She’d already told him the gist of the situation, but no details. “They’re jumping back and forth from male to female victims, but as I’m sure you can expect we have more women here than men, so…”

Geralt hmmed, “Who knows what’ll happen if they run out of male victims.”

Calar shrugged weakly. “The last was a young woman, just twenty. We found her… well, you know.” She cleared her throat. “She was around back, looked like they’d left her to be found. The others had been harder to find, haphazardly hidden. We’re near the woods, so…” She sighed, looking much older than even her fifty years. “We’d find them buried in shallow graves.”

Geralt ignored the sick churning in his stomach. He would never understand humans and their ways.

“So the last victim was a woman,” he said. “The next should be a man, then.” Calar got an odd look on her face. Geralt sat up straighter, eyeing her. “ _What?_ ” he asked gruffly.

“We only have one male whore left,” she said, fast. “The others have already been…” she trailed off, not needing to finish her sentence. Her eyes were sad and dark.

Geralt frowned, clenching his jaw. It was tragic, but also made the job easier. “That might help me find the sick bastard. He only has one option. I keep an eye on your whore and I’m bound to find the killer eventually.”

Calar brightened up, just the tiniest bit. “Thank you, Witcher,” she breathed. “Oh, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he drawled, standing up. He never liked being thanked until the job was finished. “Take me to him,” he said, and she nodded without missing a beat.

+

Calar led him back down the hallway and stopped in front of a door. She knocked once before opening it. The room was empty.

“Jaskier,” she called as she walked in, and Geralt silently followed, “I need to talk to you.”

There was a door attached to the room. Geralt heard footsteps long before the door opened. A man stepped out, in the middle of tying up his hair. “Wh – ” he paused, mid-word, when he caught sight of Geralt. His hands fell and his hair fell with it, framing a face of thin, pink lips and bright blue eyes. “Who the fuck?”

Calar rolled her eyes, but it looked mostly fond as she gestured at Geralt, “This is Geralt.”

“Oh-kay,” he said, slow. “Hi, Geralt.”

Calar cleared her throat, “He’s offered to help us with our… _problem_.”

The man – Jaskier, Calar had called him – snorted, “Problem is a bit of an understatement.”

“Don’t be like that, Jaskier,” she chided, and he just shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek as he eyed Geralt openly. “He’s offered to keep an eye on you, since, well…” she trailed off, and Jaskier stepped closer.

“Since I’m next on the chopping block?” he finished for her, an odd tilt to his lips.

Calar frowned, “ _Jaskier_.”

He shrugged and went back to fixing his hair. Geralt’s eyes flickered over his body; he was only wearing trousers, low on his hips. His shoulders and back were peppered in freckles, and he had quite a bit of hair on his chest. “I’ll take care of it,” Geralt told Calar, and she hesitated for just a moment before nodding and leaving the room.

Jaskier sighed once the door was closed, finishing his hair. He had it pulled back in a messy bun.

“You don’t seem worried,” Geralt said.

Jaskier walked over and sat on the bed. He pulled something out of the stand next to the bed. A vial of oil. Opening it, he poured some in the palm of his hands and rubbed the oil onto his legs. Geralt watched, silent.

“Why are you helping us?” he asked finally.

Geralt hmmed, stepping away from the door, “What can I say? Your boss is very convincing.”

Jaskier shrugged, putting the oil away. “She doesn’t want me to take clients until this whole thing is over,” he said.

“That’s smart,” he replied gruffly.

Jaskier sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. He looked over at Geralt. “Smart? _Sure_. Realistic? Not so much.” He looked away again. “I would think a Witcher would understand. A man can’t survive in this cruel world without money.”

Geralt stepped even closer, nearing the foot of the bed. Jaskier raised an eyebrow and scooted over, gesturing for him to sit. Geralt hesitated for a second before he sat down. “Money isn’t worth anything if you’re dead,” he said blandly.

Jaskier smiled, just the barest hint of teeth. Geralt understood why people, men and women alike, would be attracted to him. He was pretty but a little rough around the edges, undoubtedly a man. “So, we’re stuck with each other until Friday?”

“Looks that way,” he replied gruffly. “Sorry.”

Jaskier looked over at him. “ _Sorry?_ ” he parroted in mild amusement. “Hmm. Well, you can have the floor.”

Geralt wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Jaskier must’ve noticed before he leaned over, a toothy grin on his face. “What? It’s not like I’m a _whore_ ,” he said with a wink, and Geralt barked out a laugh that surprised even himself, quickly hiding it behind a series of forced coughs. He could tell Jaskier saw right through him, though.

“Doesn’t matter,” Geralt said after a moment, clearing his throat. “I won’t be sleeping.”

Jaskier blinked, “What, do Witchers not sleep?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. Geralt smirked.

“I can’t sleep because a deranged killer might burst through the door or window at any moment and stab you,” he drawled, truthfully. It was only two days; he could do it.

Jaskier’s eyes widened for the briefest of seconds, and Geralt was afraid perhaps he’d said the wrong. But then Jaskier started to laugh, clutching his sides. “You’re fucking _weird_ ,” he said through the laughter. “I like it.”

Geralt looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. He could’ve gotten stuck with a worse person, at least.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt had stayed up for weeks straight during hunts before; a couple nights was _nothing_. He sat on the floor and watched, silently, as Jaskier prepared for bed. He boldly tugged off his trousers in front of Geralt without even missing a beat, walking around in just his underclothes as he went around to blow out every candle in the room.

He didn’t want to objectify Jaskier, especially considering he wasn’t currently on the job, but there was no denying his attraction to the man.

He was thin, yes, but he had surprisingly strong thighs, a patch of dark hair that traveled from his belly button down to the top of his underclothes.

Geralt could only think _he’s gorgeous_ as he watched him. But Jaskier probably knew that already.

Finally, the room was engulfed in darkness as Jaskier blew out the final candle. For Geralt, that was no problem – with his enhanced senses, he could easily see in the dark.

Jaskier obviously was not so lucky: he clumsily stumbled over to the bed, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Geralt bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing a snort.

“I can _hear_ your amusement,” Jaskier drawled once he had reached the bed, “and I am _not_ a fan.”

Geralt grunted. He leaned against the wall, watching the door. The window was right above him. For a few minutes, it was silent. He assumed Jaskier was asleep. He should have known better, considering the man’s heartbeat was still a little erratic.

“I’ve never actually met a Witcher before,” Jaskier said. Geralt glanced at him. He knew Jaskier couldn’t see him, but Geralt could see _him_. He was rolled over, facing him, hands tucked under his head. He looked so young suddenly and Geralt wondered what had happened in his life that he ended up here. Not that Geralt judged whores, truly, but –

Well, he’d heard from enough of them that whoring wasn’t exactly their _dream_ profession.

Geralt debated not answering but his mouth betrayed him, “We aren’t as common as we used to be.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” he said, quiet in the dark. “You know, we’re similar, Geralt. In a lot of ways.”

He snorted, unable to stop himself. “Yeah?” he asked, “And how is that?”

Jaskier smiled almost sadly and Geralt suddenly felt like he was doing something wrong by watching him. He looked away. “We’re _judged_ ,” he said, and Geralt heard the bed creak as Jaskier rolled onto his back. He sighed lightly. “Not for _who_ we are or what we do or – or any of that. Just for _what_ we are. The whore of a small town and the butcher.”

Geralt’s hands curled into fists. He shook them out. He _hated_ that word.

“Sorry,” Jaskier said after a moment. “That’s probably disrespectful. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Geralt shrugged, a sharp jerky movement. He listened, briefly, for any sounds from beyond the window. It was quiet, just the crickets of bugs.

“May I ask a question?” Jaskier asked, which –

Geralt smiled, just the barest hint of teeth, “You just did.”

“You know what I mean,” he replied quickly.

Geralt normally would’ve said _no_. He had no interest in sharing unnecessary information with others, especially strangers. But he knew, from years of visiting whorehouses, that the whores seemed to get something _more_ out of their conversations with him.

Like that one woman had said, years ago, she lived for the stories of her clients because she would never have any of her own. It had been a sad confession but spoken simply, like a fact of life.

“Go ahead,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier rolled back over. “Do Witchers get, like, a _choice_ or – ?”

Geralt thought of his mother. It was a sad, almost bittersweet memory. “Not really, no.”

“Oh,” he breathed. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt was taken back. He looked over at Jaskier but his eyes were closed, hair falling in his face. He opened his mouth to say – _something_ , but one listen to Jaskier’s heartbeat, steady and slow, and he knew he had fallen asleep.

“Hmm,” he said as he looked away.

-

Nothing happened that night. Jaskier opened his eyes just as the sun was rising and sat up, scrubbing his hands down his face. Geralt watched him, silent.

Without saying a word, Jaskier got out of bed and Geralt scrambled to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“Um.” Jaskier turned to look at him. “To wash off?”

Geralt stepped forward. “You shouldn’t be on your own.”

“It’s right down the hall, Geralt,” he replied, “I think I’ll be okay.”

Geralt was not convinced; he was a professional. “That’s what the killer is _hoping_ you’ll think,” he said, blunt as ever, and Jaskier clenched his teeth. He put on a good show, no doubt, but Geralt could smell his fear, muted but _there,_ undeniable _._ “I’ll stand in the hall and wait for you,” he said, a little softer. “Just to be safe.”

Jaskier sighed, shoulders slumping. He walked over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of trousers and a shirt. Geralt waited. Finally, Jaskier turned to look at him again.

“Fine,” he grumbled, “but you peek and I’ll stab your eyes out.”

Again, an odd thing for a whore to say but he assumed it was different; being on the job versus off the job. It was a hard thing for Geralt to comprehend, considering he was never _off the job._ Geralt respected his wishes, though. “Very well,” he said, nodding.

Jaskier smiled, slow. “I’m _kidding_ ,” he said, and Geralt would’ve blushed if he didn’t have perfect control over his body. “Come on.”

He turned away and Geralt followed him out of the room and down the hall. The washroom just had curtains for a door. Jaskier winked at him.

“Remember, no peeking,” he teased and Geralt resisted flipping him off.

He wasn’t a _child_.

Jaskier stepped under the curtains and Geralt listened idly for any sign of danger, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest.

He heard the splash of water as Jaskier entered the tub and then – unexpectedly – he heard Jaskier start to _sing_. He was obviously trying to be quiet but Geralt could hear him, clear as day.

 _Benefits of enhanced senses_ , he thought, as he listened.

Jaskier sung, soft and sweet, about unseen adventures and freedom. Geralt had encountered _many_ bards in _many_ rundown taverns over the years but Jaskier was undoubtedly better than all of them, not that the standard was particularly _high_.

He knew Jaskier was finished when he stopped singing. He heard the splash of water and soon Jaskier pushed the curtains out of the way.

“Did you peek?” he asked, an amused quirk to his lips.

His hair was wet, hanging in his face. Geralt snorted, “You wish.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier said, eyeing him up and down, open as a book, “I wouldn’t be disappointed, sure.”

Geralt opened his mouth, but thankfully Calar poked her out from around the corner before he could say anything dumb. She looked a little better today, less like she was going to unravel at the seams at any second.

“Breakfast, boys,” she said, smiling at Geralt. “I made you an extra serving of bacon, Witcher.”

Jaskier gasped dramatically, “Not fair.”

Calar rolled her eyes and disappeared back around the corner. Geralt watched as Jaskier smiled to himself.

“Well,” he said eventually. “Are you hungry? Because I’m _starving_.”

Geralt found himself smiling, just the tiniest bit. He cleared his throat. “Lead the way.”

-

Geralt was introduced to the rest of the whores that morning. Like Calar had said, they were all women. Him and Jaskier were the only men at the table. Most of them were friendly, smiling brightly and offering their hands. Some were not.

Geralt respected that, eating quietly.

He listened, idly, as all the whores argued like siblings, chattering loudly. Calar occasionally shushed them with no real heat, and they would quiet down for a total of two seconds before starting up again, giggling and teasing each other.

Geralt found himself watching Jaskier a lot. He smiled at the women, talked to them, but there was something… _missing_. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked around, curious if any of the other whores or even Calar had picked up on it, but none of them seemed too concerned. So frowning, he went back to eating.

-

“So,” Jaskier said after breakfast. He was staring at Geralt like he was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. “I’m bored.”

Geralt had genuinely not been expecting _that_. “What?”

“I can’t work,” Jaskier said, pacing the small front room of the whorehouse, “I can’t do anything without you following me around like a loyal pup – ” Geralt’s nose twitched, almost smiling “ – so there’s only one option left.” He stopped pacing, hands on his hips. “We can visit the market.”

Geralt had also not been expecting that. “Okay?”

“I’ve been needing some new clothes,” Jaskier continued like he hadn’t even replied, pulling a small red pouch out of his pocket. “I don’t have many coins left, but should be enough for a new shirt and a pair of trousers.”

Geralt wasn’t exactly _against_ the idea – he also wasn’t a big fan of sitting around, twiddling his thumbs. He nodded curtly. “Lead the way,” he said, not for the first time that day. He hadn’t been in town long enough to visit the market, so he could only follow blindly as Jaskier led him out of the whorehouse and through the winding dirt roads.

The market was somewhat impressive, especially given the general size of the town. Geralt stopped at a cart and looked at some daggers, more out of interest than anything. He had his swords and would always prefer them.

He, of course, always kept an eye on Jaskier. He knew that just losing sight of him for two seconds could be the end of him, especially if the killer was any good at what they did.

Eventually, Geralt bought one of the daggers and joined Jaskier at a cart. He was studying clothes closely.

“What do you think?” he asked, picking up a red shirt. “Suits me, don’t you think?”

Geralt couldn’t rightfully disagree with that; the red looked striking against his skin. He didn’t trust his words. He never did, so he just shrugged, a sharp movement and grunted in reply. Jaskier pouted, bottom lip jutting out, and turned back to the cart. He smiled politely at the woman working it. “I’ll take it,” he said brightly, and handed her a few coins.

After that, Jaskier walked to a different cart and picked out a pair of brown trousers. Geralt just watched silently. He never really understood clothes or why some people cared so much about them.

Turning toward him, Jaskier smiled brightly, “We can – _oh_.”

He stared at something over Geralt’s shoulder, eyes twinkling. Geralt glanced back; a cart was selling instruments and the biggest attraction was obviously the lute, a pretty oak brown with dandelions etched in the wood. Geralt looked back and Jaskier was still staring like he was in a trance or something.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement, “See something you like?”

Jaskier startled, hard, and cleared his throat. “What? Um, no.” He smiled again, a little dim. “We should go.” He didn’t wait for Geralt’s reply, just started off back in the direction of the whorehouse. There was no missing the tension in his shoulders.

He frowned, pondering if he should say something or not when he suddenly remembered, “Wait.”

Jaskier slowed down but kept walking. Geralt caught up with him and pulled the dagger out of his pocket, wrapped in a cloth. He handed it over, and Jaskier unwrapped it with an odd quirk to his lips, “I’ve received nicer presents, I must say.”

Geralt snorted, “Just in case,” he said. “Might even come in handy after I’m gone.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier said, wrapping the dagger back in the cloth. “Thank you.”

Geralt nodded. He followed Jaskier back to the whorehouse and kept thinking about the lute. _Huh._


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner was served and Jaskier grabbed a bowl and went back to his room. Geralt hesitated, looking at Calar, who just sighed and shook her head, before following. After their visit to the market, Jaskier had been in a foul mood.

He assumed he knew why.

Jaskier sat on the bed, balancing his bowl in his lap, and began to eat. Geralt had been sitting on the floor a lot – really, he didn’t mind it – but he decided for this conversation perhaps it’d be better if he didn’t. He joined him on the bed, and Jaskier looked up.

He looked a little surprised but not upset, so Geralt stayed put.

“Do you play?” he asked, always to the point.

Jaskier looked down, a sad quirk to his lips. He dipped his spoon back in the soup and blew on it. He ignored him long enough that Geralt thought he might not answer, but then he sipped the soup off the spoon and said, “I used to, years ago.”

“Why did you stop?” he asked, like an idiot.

Jaskier looked up, smiling ruefully, “I wasn’t making enough money, Geralt. You should understand that better than most. So, I sold my lute and – ” he shrugged. “Here I am.”

“But you were passionate about it,” he said, not really a question. He’d seen the passion, the love, in Jaskier’s eyes earlier.

“I _was_ ,” he confirmed, sounding the smallest he had since Geralt met him, “but it wasn’t enough.”

Geralt had never been good with words, especially at comforting others, but he realized he wanted to at least try. He reached out, slow, and placed a heavy hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I heard you singing in the bath,” he said. “You have an incredible voice.”

Jaskier looked up, eyes twinkling with amusement. He looked happier, at least, and that had been Geralt’s goal, really. “I said no peeking, so you _eavesdropped_ instead?” he asked, but it was light and teasing.

“I can’t help it,” he replied with his own amusement. “Enhanced hearing and all that.”

Jaskier nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. “Thank you, Geralt,” he said. “But sadly talent isn’t enough; no one cared for my songs. I had no inspiration.” He looked down and the light in his eyes dimmed again, and Geralt was surprised by how much he wanted to bring it back again. “And I’m happy now. As happy as I can be, at least.”

Geralt nodded. He didn’t know what else to say. They both quietly finished their dinners.

-

A couple hours before bed, Jaskier said, “You know, I don’t actually know how to use this thing.”

Geralt looked up to the sight of Jaskier eyeing the dagger skeptically. Geralt snorted. He could’ve guessed as much. He stood up from the floor. “You’ve never used a dagger before?” he said, just for confirmation.

“I was a bard and am now a whore, what do _you_ think?” At least Jaskier was talking to him again.

Geralt tilted his head back and forth, “Point taken.” He paused before adding, “Get up.”

Jaskier blinked, eyes wide. “What?”

“Get up,” he replied gruffly, “and I’ll show you a few things.”

“But do I really need to learn anything?” he asked even as he stood up, holding the dagger in his hand. “I thought the whole point of having you as my bodyguard was so _you_ could protect _me_ from danger.”

Geralt supposed he had a point, but – “What about later down the road?” he asked, “Knowing how to protect yourself is never a bad thing.”

Jaskier stared at him for a moment, seemingly mulling it over, before he stepped closer. “Okay, big boy,” he said, and Geralt let out a laugh that surprised even himself, “Show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, well,” Geralt extended his arms. He didn’t have any armor on, just his shirt and trousers. “Try to stab me.”

Jaskier blinked, once, before he narrowed his eyes. “What if I hurt you?”

“Then I’ll be impressed,” he replied breezily, and Jaskier grinned like a shark.

“Oh, you’re _on_ , you bastard,” he hissed before he threw himself at Geralt, dagger raised high. He got close, _so_ close, before Geralt reached out and grabbed his wrist. He twisted it, enough to hurt but not enough to do any real damage, and the dagger fell to the floor, clattering.

Jaskier stared at the dagger. Geralt released his wrist and found himself checking it for any bruises.

“Well,” Jaskier said, rubbing his wrist, “That was embarrassing.”

Geralt smirked. “Not really,” he said, honest. “You can’t expect to know anything, given your history.”

Jaskier didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded away. Geralt reached down and picked up the dagger, handing it back. Jaskier clutched it, hard.

“You don’t have strength on your side,” he said easily, and Jaskier rolled his eyes – “wow, _thanks_ ” – but Geralt just barreled on, “so you will need to depend on your speed and reflexes.” He took a stance, “Copy me.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together, tight, mimicking Geralt perfectly.

“Perfect,” he said. “Now when you come at me, aim for my neck.” Jaskier looked unsure. “But at the last second, duck your hand and aim for my thigh.”

Jaskier nodded. “If I stab you, you’re going to be _so_ mad.”

Geralt smirked, eyes twinkling. Jaskier hadn’t seen him look so _happy_ since he met him. It was a bit startling. He was obviously in his element. “Like I said,” he drawled, “I’d simply be impressed. Come on, Jaskier.”

Taking a deep breath, he lunged forward and aimed first for Geralt’s neck – his stupidly _thick_ neck – before he turned at the last second and dropped his hand. If Geralt hadn’t been so fast, he might’ve actually gotten the dagger in his thigh –

but the Witcher jumped out of the way and grabbed his arm. “Good,” he said. “That was good.”

Jaskier looked up at him skeptically. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Do it again.”

So, for the next two hours, they sparred. Geralt even let Jaskier win a couple times, mostly because he found himself enjoying the winning grin on Jaskier’s face whenever he got the dagger pressed against Geralt’s neck.

“You’re totally letting me win,” he said, grinning even wider.

Geralt reached up and grasped his wrist, pulling his hand – and the dagger – away from his neck. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, an amused quirk to his lips.

Jaskier stuck his tongue out between his teeth, “I didn’t say _that_.”

“You really are improving, though,” Geralt said, a little more serious, “You’re a fast learner.”

Jaskier almost looked embarrassed as he shrugged and fidgeted with the dagger. “You’re a good teacher.”

Geralt snorted loudly, “That’s a first.”

Jaskier shrugged again and sat on the bed, placing the dagger on the stand by the bed. “I’m tired. Who knew sparring would be even more exhausting than sex?” he asked, putting a hand up at Geralt’s knowing expression, “Don’t actually answer that.”

Amused, Geralt went to sit down on the floor and Jaskier said, “Why don’t you sleep with me tonight?”

“Hmm,” he said, looking over at him, “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

Jaskier shrugged, an almost sheepish look on his face, “I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?”

Geralt glanced at the window, debated it. “Okay,” he said finally. “I won’t sleep,” he said. He approached the bed and waved Jaskier over, who quickly scooted to make room for the other man. “But a bed is still more comfortable than a floor.”

Jaskier smiled, biting his bottom lip, “I should – ” he gestured at the candles by the door.

“Hmm,” he said. “No, you don’t.”

Jaskier watched, silent and stunned, as Geralt used his magic to blow out all the candles. The room was dark as he settled down, facing Geralt, hands tucked under his head. Geralt sat up, leaning against the headboard. “That was really cool,” Jaskier said finally, like he’d been trying to contain it and simply couldn’t.

“Hardly,” he replied truthfully, “I can’t do much, just the basics. You should see what some people can do.”

Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip. “Um, _mages,_ right? It’s just… I’ve never actually met one, but I hear a lot of stories from clients.”

He nodded and slowly slid down the bed until he was laying on his back. He turned, slightly, and faced Jaskier. Geralt knew he’d probably need to sit back up before long – he might’ve been a Witcher, but his body still craved sleep like a human – but for now, until Jaskier fell asleep, he’d be fine. “They can do incredible things. They’re usually pretty annoying, but that’s the price you pay.”

“I wish I could meet one,” he said, barely a whisper.

Geralt wanted to say, _you will, one day,_ but he didn’t know that. There was a lot he wanted to say, _like why don’t you leave this place, try being a bard again?_

But he had never been good with words and he knew Jaskier probably wouldn’t appreciate any of it. He obviously wanted to be a bard – that much was obvious, from how he’d looked at the lute at the market – but life wasn’t always about what you _wanted_ but what you _needed_.

Geralt had learned that lesson very young, unfortunately.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he heard Jaskier whisper.

He nodded, once. “Goodnight, Jaskier.” He waited until he heard Jaskier’s heartbeat slow down. “Sweet dreams.”


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt opened his eyes to the sight of a still sleeping Jaskier, all curled up, dark hair falling in his face. His heart did something funny, which wasn’t right – as a Witcher, he had perfect control over his body. Well, there was always exceptions.

He sat up, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fuck.” He’d fallen asleep. He should’ve known better. Thankfully, Jaskier was obviously safe, his heartbeat reaching Geralt’s ears as clearly as if he had his ear pressed to the man’s chest.

Jaskier stirred and opened his eyes with a soft yawn, “Hmm?”

“I fell asleep,” he replied gruffly.

Jaskier sat up and licked his lips. “Is that a problem?”

“Did you forget why I’m here?” he replied, a bit harsh. Geralt immediately regretted it; Jaskier winced and looked down. “I didn’t mean – ”

Jaskier looked up, smiling tightly. He shrugged. “You’re right. You’re here for a job, nothing else.” He turned away before Geralt could reply, a thousand different words caught in his throat. He climbed out of bed. “I’m going to wash off. I’m assuming you want to follow me again?”

Geralt frowned, “I’m only doing all this for your safety.”

“I – ” Jaskier turned back around, visibly softening, “I’m sorry, I know.”

Geralt nodded as he stood up and circled the bed, stopping in front of Jaskier. His hands twitched, wanting to reach out for the man. He kept them firmly at his sides. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. He wasn’t used to apologizing, never really cared to, but in that moment he needed Jaskier to know the truth, “I swear I’ll respect your privacy. Plug my ears or something.”

Jaskier smiled slowly, “But then how would you hear me scream?”

And – “Huh,” Geralt said, “Good point.”

Jaskier laughed, soft and airy, and patted him on the arm. Geralt felt like his skin was on his fire. It was a new feeling, and a kind of scary one. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, eyes twinkling, obviously feeling better, “I’ve missed having an audience, if I’m honest.”

He winked and walked around Geralt to the door. “Hmm,” he said, head swirling with thoughts.

-

Geralt stood in the hall and listened, with permission, as Jaskier hummed and sang and washed off. He really was talented, even Geralt could see that and he was not really a fan of music. Never really got the point of it.

Afterwards, Jaskier ducked under the curtains. “So,” he said, grinning, “What did you think?”

“You’re good,” he said, honestly.

Jaskier blinked, once, before he grinned wider. “I could give you your own private show tonight if you wanted,” he said, poking him in the chest. “Since – ” he frowned but it passed so quickly Geralt wondered if he’d imagined it “ – it’ll be your last night with me.”

“You speak as if I’m one of your clients,” he said with a hint of amusement.

He didn’t expect Jaskier to frown again, “Breakfast should be served any second,” he said tersely. Without waiting for a reply, he turned away and walked down the hall.

Geralt hesitated for a second before following him, his footsteps heavy. At breakfast, he went over their conversation a dozen times but he still didn’t know what he’d said wrong. He tried asking Jaskier, but he just brushed him off, smiling tightly.

One of the other workers – a young woman with dark hair – smiled at him sympathetically.

Frowning, Geralt leaned back in his chair, no longer very hungry.

-

“Just tell me what I did,” Geralt said later that night. Jaskier had been ignoring him all day, giving him the cold shoulder, not replying when he talked to him. Geralt felt like he was going out of his mind. The sun was setting and soon the killer would most likely show up and he just wanted things to be settled _before_ then.

Jaskier sat on the bed, fidgeting with the dagger. “It’s best if I didn’t,” he muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear even _with_ his enhanced senses.

Geralt pushed away from the wall and walked over. Jaskier looked up and there was something sad about the way he smiled at him.

“Can I?” he asked, nodding at the bed. Jaskier shrugged and he sat down. “Can I be honest with you?”

Jaskier looked down, lightly ran his fingertip over the blade of the dagger. “Sure.”

“I didn’t even want this job at first,” he explained, looking out the window. “I’ve always been adamant about keeping my nose out of human affairs. They’re just too… complicated,” he admitted. “It’s easier if I stay out of it.”

Jaskier snorted, “Humans are complicated, that’s for sure,” he agreed, an odd quirk to his lips.

At least he was talking to him. Geralt counted that as a win. “But Calar was very convincing, I must say. I’ve visited a lot of whorehouses – ” Jaskier looked up, amusement twinkling in his eyes, and Geralt shrugged. “A man gets lonely, even Witchers.” Jaskier smiled, just barely, and looked back down. “What I mean to say is, a lot of bawds do not care about their workers the way she does. Made turning her down almost impossible.”

“She _is_ very stubborn,” he mumbled quietly.

Geralt nodded. “But I’m glad I did,” he said, the honesty of the words surprising even himself. He had had no intentions of caring about any of the whores, beyond protecting them and finishing the job, but then he had met Jaskier and well – “I’ve enjoyed these last few days.”

“Yeah?” he asked almost hopefully, looking up.

Geralt decided there was no more hiding the truth, “Yeah.”

Jaskier sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it. He silently moved the dagger out of his lap, setting it on the stand by the bed. Geralt stared at him, and he stared back. He could practically feel the tension in the air, could almost _taste_ it.

Actually, he realized, he was smelling Jaskier’s arousal, potent.

“We shouldn’t – ” he started, but Jaskier moved forward, straddling him,

“But do you _want_ to?”

Geralt’s fingers twitched. He wanted this. He simply hadn’t realized _how much_ until Jaskier was in his lap, a warm, heavy weight. He slowly reached up and gripped his hips. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this,” he said finally.

“I have never done I didn’t want to do in my life,” he said firmly. “Believe me.”

Geralt smiled, just the smallest quirk of his lips. He squeezed his waist. “I do,” he said, meaning it.

“If this is your last night here,” Jaskier said, “I _want_ to do this.” He tilted his head, an almost shy look in his eyes. “Unless _you_ don’t want to – ”

Geralt almost laughed because, “I _want_ this.”

“Okay,” Jaskier breathed, leaning down. He brushed their lips together, once, soft and teasing. “ _Witcher_ ,” he said, confidently with no hesitation, “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you. I wish, sometimes, we had met under better circumstances.”

Geralt nodded, nosing at his jaw. He smelled like honey and oak. “Hmm,” he replied, a bit distracted as Jaskier reached for the strings of his trousers. He understood what he meant; things might’ve been a lot simpler if they had met in a tavern or a bar. But Jaskier was a whore, and Geralt a Witcher, and rarely did they get happy endings.

“I’ll make sure you never forget me,” Jaskier whispered against the shell of his ear. He reached under Geralt’s trousers and wrapped his fingers around his cock, half-hard and leaking. “Or my hands,” he added, “or my _mouth_.”

Geralt almost responded, too honestly, with _but_ _you already have._

But then Jaskier was kissing him, slow and deep, and he decided words could wait.

-

Afterwards, they laid together in the bed, their limbs tangled together. Geralt listened for any concerning sounds from beyond the window but the night was quiet. Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder; they were both sticky with sweat, but neither of them cared very much. Jaskier turned his face and took a deep breath.

Geralt smelled undeniably like a _man_ , deep and heady, and Jaskier wanted to never forget it.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for scents,” he heard, light and teasing.

Jaskier smiled against the warm skin of Geralt’s shoulder, “I don’t,” he said. “Not usually.”

“Hmm,” was Geralt’s reply. He placed a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, lazily drawing circles with his finger. He kept glancing at the window, always searching, but nothing, no sounds, no movement. He should’ve been relieved but for some reason he was just unsettled. He tugged Jaskier closer without even realizing it.

Jaskier stretched, kissing his jaw, “What is it?”

“Nothing’s happening,” he replied instantly, still watching the window.

Jaskier nosed at his jaw, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“In my experience, no,” Geralt answered, honest as ever. He shifted a bit and Jaskier moved off him with a frown. He sat up and squinted at the window, listened harder. It was quiet, he realized, not just outside but inside, too. Normally he would hear the occasional shuffling of feet, whispers between the other whores, even some snoring from down the hall. He heard none of it. “It’s too quiet,” he breathed.

Jaskier looked at him funny, “Okay, um. What do you mean?”

Geralt stood up, grabbing one of his swords from out of his bag. He gripped the hilt, tight. “Get your dagger and stay behind me, okay?” Jaskier stared at him, silent, for too long. “ _Now_ , Jaskier,” he snarled, and he jumped out of bed, grabbing his dagger.

“Do you think – ” he started, eyes wide.

Geralt shushed him, “No talking. Just stay behind me.”

He nodded silently and followed Geralt to the door. Geralt leaned forward, nearly pressing his ear to the door. Nothing. He frowned and pulled back, reaching out. With a hard push, the door swung open and he stepped out of the room. The hall was empty and dark, and he knew Jaskier had no chance of seeing even two feet in front of him.

“Geralt,” he said, quiet and a little nervous. “I really don’t think – ”

He shushed him again, “Just follow my footsteps, okay?”

Walking down the hall, he stopped in front of the door connecting the hall to the main room of the shop. Looking back, he checked on Jaskier. He was still just a couple feet behind him, clutching his dagger. He reached out and cupped the back of his neck. Jaskier startled for a second before realizing it was him. “If anything happens to me,” he said, pressing their foreheads together, “run for it.”

Jaskier audibly gulped, “Okay.”

He kissed him, once, on the lips. Geralt felt it for what it was: a kiss full of unspoken promises.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled back and turned around. Steeling himself, he opened the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt’s eyes quickly flickered around the room and right away he noticed a man standing over a – body, he realized, his stomach sinking. It wasn’t Jaskier, obviously, but he’d grown fond of most of the whores. He heard Jaskier’s gasp and stepped back, “Go,” he commanded under his breath. “Find the others, lock yourself in a room.”

“No,” he hissed back, “I’m not leaving you.”

The man looked up. He wasn’t very old or very young, the most average of men. He held two bloody daggers, though. Geralt knew Jaskier was stubborn – Calar might not have been his mother, but he very well took after her – so he rushed forward, sword held high.

If Jaskier wouldn’t go, he needed to at least make sure he didn’t get hurt, even a little bit.

Geralt would never forgive himself. The man stumbled back – ah, probably just a human, then – and pointed his daggers at Geralt. His hands shook. Geralt could not feel even an ounce of pity for a man who had slaughtered innocent men and women.

He wanted to ask him _why_ , wanted to know what had happened to him to make him so cruel, but sometimes life was not so satisfying. Sometimes you never got the answer you’d been waiting for. Sometimes your options were limited and Geralt knew if he waited even a second longer, the man might escape.

He could not let that happen. He heard Jaskier gasp again and then the clattering of him dropping his dagger. _Idiot_ , he thought fiercely, even as he jammed his sword through the man’s stomach.

The man fell over, slumping limply against the wall, and Geralt slowly withdrew his sword.

Geralt stood over the man’s body, panting. So many innocent people had been killed, and by who? A man Geralt could’ve killed blindfolded. It was all so unfair. He clutched the hilt of his sword, hard, and that’s when he heard Jaskier’s whimper.

Turning around, he saw Jaskier trembling, staring at the body on the floor. Geralt rushed over and his stomach churned at the sight of Calar, limp and bloody. He sidestepped quickly and covered Jaskier’s eyes. “Stop looking,” he said. “You don’t need to see this.”

“But – but she’s – ” he gasped, and, as if on cue, Calar let out a groan of pain – “She’s _alive_.”

Geralt pulled his hand away and crouched down, checking. She had a weak pulse, but it was there. “Go tell the others what happened,” he commanded. “I’ll take her to the healer.” Jaskier hesitated and Geralt nodded. “ _Go_.”

Clenching his hands into fists, Jaskier turned on his heels and ran down the hall. Geralt could hear him pounding on doors as he lifted Calar in his arms and left the whorehouse. The healer was on the other side of town but thankfully he was fast.

-

Jaskier and the rest of them showed up at the healer’s house – a tiny little cottage – not even an hour later. The healer was a woman, probably 40s, and a little rough around the edges. She stared at the group of fifteen, twenty young faces and sighed heavily. “Sure,” she drawled, stepping out of the way, “Why not?”

Geralt was sitting in the bedroom with Calar, watching her, when Jaskier opened the door.

He walked in. “Will she be okay?” he asked, like he was afraid of the answer.

Geralt didn’t look away from her resting face. “The healer has done everything she can,” he said, “Now all we can do is wait and hope Calar is strong enough to fight this.”

Jaskier grabbed the other chair in the room and pulled it over. He sat down and placed his hand on Geralt’s thigh, palm up, a silent invitation if he wanted it. Gods, did he want it. Geralt reached up and laced their fingers together.

“She’ll be okay,” Jaskier whispered. “She’s stubborn, right?”

Geralt looked over at him, eyes alight with amusement. “Yeah, and you’re no better.”

“I wasn’t leaving you,” he replied instantly, squeezing his hand. “I – ” he cut himself off, biting his bottom lip, _hard_. Geralt reached over with his other hand and gently thumbed at the corner of his mouth until he stopped. He smiled, tightly. “I don’t, um. There’s something I should probably tell you – ”

Calar let out a sharp gasp and Geralt quickly leaned over her. “Calar, are you okay? Can you hear me?” She blinked a few times, eyelashes fluttering, and nodded weakly. “Jaskier,” he said without even looking, “Go get the healer.”

Jaskier stumbled out of his chair and soon it was just Geralt and Calar. She found his hand, squeezing.

“Thank you,” she said, raspy and weak.

Geralt nodded curtly, “You don’t need to thank me; I couldn’t leave you – ”

“No,” she interrupted with the smallest of smiles, “Thank you for – for protecting _him_.”

Geralt blinked, genuinely surprised. “Of course,” he said, meaning it. It was a new feeling for him, to want to protect someone as much as he wanted to protect Jaskier.

The door opened and the healer stepped in, ushering him away from Calar. “Go, let me work.”

Nodding, he turned and saw Jaskier waiting for him by the door, wringing his hands nervously. He walked over and they interlaced their fingers again, walking together to the living room. A few of the whores were crying, some were comforting each other.

But some of them looked up at their arrival and smirked or winked. Jaskier flipped them all off.

Geralt just tried not to smile. Things were going to be okay.

-

Calar would stay at the healer’s house for a few more days, just to be sure, but the healer seemed pretty confident that she’d be okay. The whorehouse was closed, to be reopened later.

“Hey,” Jaskier said. “Do you maybe want to – I don’t know. Come with me?”

Geralt looked up; he’d been cleaning his sword when Jaskier had mentioned something about needing a bath. He had assumed Jaskier would no longer want him there, given that the threat was over, but when he saw the way Jaskier was looking at him, he realized he’d been dumb to ever think that. “Sure,” he said, putting his sword aside.

The tub was somewhat small but they made it work; Jaskier shifted and sat in Geralt’s lap.

They were quiet as they cleaned each other off. Jaskier cleaned Geralt’s back, admiring the scars. He didn’t ask about them, which was maybe why Geralt ended up telling him about most of them. Jaskier just nodded and hummed in reply.

After, Geralt washed Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier tilted his head back, eyelashes fluttering. “Gods, I could get used to this,” he said, nearly moaning. Geralt’s cock twitched. Jaskier noticed, obviously, because he turned in his lap and kissed him, slow and deep.

“Your – ah, _hair_ ,” he said through kisses. There was still suds in it.

Jaskier grinned against his lips, “It can wait.”

They both jerked each other off, messy and quick. Afterwards, Geralt dried Jaskier off, who laughed and squirmed, swatting at his chest. “I’m _ticklish_ ,” he whined, eyes bright. It was – _nice_ , Geralt realized, really nice. He had spent so many years thinking he’d be better off alone and now he was starting to question why he ever thought that.

He knew _why_ , of course – he was _scared_ of caring about others for two reasons:

They’d probably die before him unless they weren’t human and even then… his life was a dangerous one. Even the most powerful of mages or monsters might not last long on the road with him.

Or ( _worse_ ) they might grow to resent him for some reason, probably entirely valid.

“Hey,” Jaskier whispered. He brushed his fingertips lightly over his jaw. “What are you thinking about?”

Geralt smiled, small and sincere. “ _You_ ,” he answered truthfully. Jaskier grinned, biting the inside of his cheek, and they leaned in at the same time, pressing their lips together.

-

They slept together that night and in the morning Geralt was gone. Jaskier should’ve seen it coming, honestly. He sat up and tried not to be too disappointed. (He failed, spectacularly.) The door opened and one of the whores, Ann, walked over to join him on the bed. The door opened again a few seconds later and another whore, Kali, walked over to join them.

By the end of it, most of the whores had joined him, comforting him as he cried, shaking with sobs.

“I’m glad he helped us,” Ann said, “But he’s a fucking bastard for leaving without telling you.”

Jaskier laughed, sharp and wet, and buried his face in her hair, “It’s my fault for thinking he would stay.”

-

Jaskier ate breakfast, feeling numb, and went out to the small garden after. The plants and flowers were all dead – none of the whores had much of a green thumb, only Calar – and Jaskier couldn’t help sympathizing with them. He crouched down and admired a dandelion. It was the only flower still thriving.

He heard hooves on the gravel and assumed it was a client, “Sorry,” he said, “We’re not open yet.”

“I know that.”

Jaskier froze. His heart thumped loudly behind his ribs. He looked up and, “ _Geralt_ ,” he said, nearly sobbing. Geralt climbed off Roach and that’s when he noticed what he was carrying on his back; a lute, and not just any lute. He slowly stood on shaky legs. “Um, Geralt,” he said, pointing at the lute. “Why – why the fuck do you have that?”

“Why do you _think_?” he asked in mild amusement. He tied Roach up before walking over. He shrugged it off his back. “I got it as a gift for you.”

Jaskier was at a loss for words.

“Here,” he said, and Jaskier took it. His fingers shook. It’d been so long.

Jaskier swallowed thickly and experimentally ran his fingertips over the strings. He grinned, watery, and looked at Geralt. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, cradling the lute like it was something precious because _it was._ It was the best gift he’d ever received. “This is, um,” he laughed wetly, “much better than the dagger.”

Geralt smiled briefly. “That’s not all,” he replied, and for maybe the first time since Jaskier had met him Geralt looked _terrified_. He shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Um, okay,” he said, sniffling. “Anything.”

Geralt cleared his throat again and squared his shoulders, “Will you accompany me on my travels?”

Jaskier had been expecting _a lot_ of questions, but admittedly not _that_. He was so shocked he nearly dropped the lute but Geralt – thank the Gods for his fast reflexes – grabbed it. Jaskier stared at him, tears slowly streaming down his face. “But – ” he started, “Calar – ”

“I stopped by the healer’s place before going to the market,” he said, gently. “She’s okay with it, Jaskier.” Geralt smiled, soft. “Actually, she encouraged it.”

Jaskier laughed again, sharp and happy and wet. “Wait, are we – are we actually doing this?” he asked in disbelief. He had never imagined he’d _even_ attempt being a bard again. But it had always been his dream, to be free and on the road, playing not just for coins but for _fun_. Because it was what he loved and perhaps not _everything_ had to be about money.

“If you want to,” he replied instantly. “I don’t want to push you to anything, Jaskier.”

Jaskier took the lute back from Geralt and gently placed it on the ground. Geralt watched him with an amused quirk to his lips. “What are you – ” he started to ask, but Jaskier threw himself at him before he could finish his question, wrapping his arms around his neck.

He buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder and sobbed openly, “I’ve never _wanted_ anything more.”

Geralt loosely wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, gently rubbing his back through his clothes. “Okay,” he said. “We can leave in the morning.”

Jaskier nodded. Sometimes what you _wanted_ was exactly what you _needed_.

-

They stopped by the healer’s place the next morning on their way out of town. Geralt stayed on Roach while Jaskier went in and talked to Calar. She was obviously feeling better, propped up in the bed with pillows and eating crackers.

“So,” Calar said, eyes twinkling, “You found your knight in shining armor.”

Jaskier laughed softly. “Thank you, Calar, for everything.” He reached out and she took his hand. He squeezed lightly. “I don’t think I could’ve survived these past few years without you and the others.” He had never _wanted_ to be a whore, sure, but he would always be grateful for the memories he had made with the girls and Calar. They had, in a lot of ways, grew to be like family.

“I hope he treats you well,” Calar said. “You deserve nothing less.”

Jaskier leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll visit,” he said. He wanted to mean it, he really did, but –

“No, you won’t,” she said, soft and understanding. She reached up and cupped the side of his face. “Have a good life, Julian. I will miss you. If Geralt ever hurts you, come back and let us know.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “We’ll make him regret it.”

Jaskier laughed, feeling _free_ for the first time in years. “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> support me & my fics:
> 
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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